The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 26: The Wolf of Light, Part 4

 Denisius stared with pity and horror into the advocates' well. He had not been witness to any of Carala's transformations since the first one in the Curate's Tower, nor had he asked Ammas for details of the ones he had seen, but he did not think this look of ecstasy could have been on her face for any of them. Whatever hold Andreth had over her was a strong one, and even the cursewright's stilling charm might not have been enough to overcome it. 

As he watched, even that recognizable expression of pleasure was lost, swallowed up in the onyx fur that sprouted from her face; by the muzzle that her mouth became, lips skinning back in a hungry snarl. Her clothes stretched and warped over her shifting body, and as they began to tear Andreth knelt by her side and peeled them away entirely. He did it gently, as a midwife would wipe a mother's blood from a newborn babe.

"Rise up, dear Princess," Andreth crooned, tilting her snout up to his face with a single finger. 

Carala-the-wolf gazed up at his request, her sides heaving. As Denisius and the others watched on in mingled fear and shock (Silenio struggled so violently that two more wolves still clad in human shape had to restrain him, paying no heed to his screaming threats), so did the Swiftfoot gaze on Carala in rapture. The various peculiar things Syerre had said when Swiftfoot had attacked them in Vilais struck Denisius as the ravings of a madwoman, but here in the austere splendor of the Grand Curia, scores of the wolves staring so fixedly at Carala, the atmosphere was identical to services he had attended in Talinara's Cathedrl of the Graces. Whether the divine presence of the white moon was a real thing or not, there was no doubt their belief was sincere.

"Milord," Vos muttered to him, "we should not let Silenio's men stay so unprotected. A single force of seven can defend itself far better than a broken cluster of three and four."

"They'll never let us move," Denisius hissed, still staring at the she-wolf as she rose to her full height, amber eyes blazing hotly. "The second we put a toe out of line -- "

" -- then you die," Andreth laughed. Whether it was due to the Curia's acoustics or his own extraordinary hearing, Andreth was aware of every whisper uttered in his presence. "But that's a given, Lord Marhollow. Isn't it, Carala?"

The she-wolf snarled softly, sinking to all fours and pawing at the ground.

"Yes," Andreth murmured. "I think it best that it ends this way. Your pet magician's leash is gone, my Princess. There is no need to restrain yourself. No need to deny yourself. Every wolf of the white moon has tasted flesh. It is a sin you should go so long without. And an even greater sin was trying to force this creature on you as a husband. Not the gravest of your father's sins, was it? But this one can be cleansed."

Carala-the-wolf turned her amber gaze on Denisius. Vos sidled closer to his master, sword at the ready, knowing full well how pointless such a gesture was in the face of a force this size. He might successfully strike Carala down before she could claim Denisius's life, but even Vos didn't think that qualified as a victory.

"Now, Carala," Andreth murmured, running one thick hand between her twitching ears, caressing her as fondly as any hunting dog. "Show him his place."

"Cara," Denisius whispered. "Don't."

Carala snarled . . . reared back . . . and leapt.

Andreth shrieked in surprise when her fangs sank into the side of his head, the sound astonishingly womanish. He tumbled under her weight like a sack of flour, Carala's paws raking furiously at his clothing, tearing it away to score his flesh. Silenio's lips curled into a vicious smile, broad enough to expose the gaps Barthim had left in his teeth. Denisius stared in numb shock, his expression mirrored on Vos's face. Barthim's grin had never been bigger.